


A Simple Kind Of Man

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 05, Suicide, Temporary Character Death - Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was Sam doing while Dean was wandering around in the Croatoan verse as Zachariah's guest?  This story explores Sam's experiences during that time through the eyes of several different characters.  Set between the phone call in "Free to Be You and Me" and the reunion scene in "The End."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Kind Of Man

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: SUICIDE. 
> 
> This story popped into my head after seeing some clips from those two episodes. I guess with the whole New Year thing it made sense - we know what happened to Dean in that time period, but not what Sam was up to while Dean was there. It just didn't make sense to me that Sam would just take Lucifer's word for it. 
> 
> So anyway.
> 
> Supernatural and the characters from the show are not my property. I make no money from this or any other work of fan fiction.

Dean picked up the phone. “Goddamn it, Sam. I told you –“ 

“Is this Dean?” The voice wasn’t Sam’s. It was female. It was female, and she would probably be hot if she weren’t exhausted and terrified and amazingly, horrifyingly, profoundly sad all at the same time. Funny how much you could tell about a person just by their voice. 

“Who is this?”

“My name is Lindsey. I’m a … I’m a friend of Keith’s. Yours was the last number he dialed before mine. Um… are you and he… are you another of his father’s hunting buddies? Because I mean they called him Sam and you called him Sam and that kind of made him tense and cranky and –“

“I’m his brother.” Yeah, terrified. She was talking a mile a minute and even through the crappy, tinny cell phone he could hear a tremor in her voice. “What are you doing with Sam’s – Keith’s – phone?”

“I’m… um, there’s been a … a thing… I’m in a hospital in Garber, Oklahoma. Um, they want to talk to a family member.” 

Dean blinked. For a moment he was afraid. Something had happened, something bad if they had some random chick calling him instead of Sam. Then the rage welled up in him again. None of this would be happening if Sam had just done what he’d told him way back when he’d gone to Hell in the first place. If Sam hadn’t listened to that demon bitch. Demon blood? Who thought that was a good idea? Seriously? “I so don’t have time to hold his hand anymore. He made his bed, now he has to lie in it. He’s the one who screwed up, he can’t keep running to big brother every time he gets scared. He can go to Hell is where he can go.”

“I, uh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” she told him. The tremor was gone from her voice now. There was only anger and sorrow. “But you can join him there.” The connection terminated. 

Dean looked at the phone for a moment. Had she just said what he thought she’d said? No, of course not. She was just trying to make a point, or get his attention, or try to manipulate him on Sam’s behalf or something. Freaking Lucifer’s Vessel or whatever. No, they couldn’t go within like a thousand miles of each other. Even if forty-eight percent of his brain was screaming at him to get up, go to the car and haul ass to Garber, Oklahoma. He’d driven for sixteen straight hours that day, only to be interrupted after two hours and then after another one. He needed his sleep. Sammy’d made it pretty damn clear that he didn’t need Dean when Dean had gone to Hell for him and he’d gone and hooked up with a demon. And now Dean had learned that he hadn’t really needed Sam after all either. Besides, the kid was just trying to force Dean to take him back. There probably wasn’t anything wrong with him that a cast or a couple of stitches wouldn’t fix. 

*

Castiel’s phone rang. The number on the screen said it belonged to Bobby Singer. The older hunter had never called him, but Dean had made sure that he had the number in his phone all the same. He’d said it was important “just in case.” He’d asked if he shouldn’t have Sam’s number too. Dean had said no. “Hello?” he greeted.

“Cas, hi, it’s Bobby.”

“Yes, I saw your name on the screen. “ He hung up the phone and closed his eyes, reappearing in the hunter’s study.

The human gave a start. “Jesus, warn a fella, would you?” There was no venom to his words, and maybe ten years had been added to his face.

“I am sorry. The voice says that I am almost out of minutes. I did not wish to waste them when a more efficient alternative was at hand. How may I assist you?” He tilted his head to the side. “You are troubled.”

“It’s Sam,” the hunter sighed. “I just got a call from his phone, a friend of his in Garber, Oklahoma. She’s at the hospital with him… and they’re only willing to deal with a family member.”

“Would Dean not be the most appropriate –“

“Dean told her that Sam could go to Hell.” He snorted. “I’m… I’m worried about him, Cas.” 

“Dean is angry. He doesn’t understand that Sam was manipulated, that Dean himself was manipulated to feel the way he does. The way he did. I… I regret the part that I played in that.” He blinked. “Do you wish for me to fetch Dean?”

“Do you think he’s likely to be very helpful in his current mindset?” 

“Oh.”

“Do you think you’d be able to give me a lift?” Bobby suggested after a moment’s silence. 

The angel immediately felt foolish. Of course. It would take hours for Bobby to get to Oklahoma by car. “Of course, Bobby.” He grabbed the back of the human’s wheelchair, cursing his inability to do more, and moved them to the hospital.

He set them down in an empty elevator that spat them out into the main entrance, letting Bobby guide them into the lobby and call the strange friend. This was Important. It was Important not to let people see them just appearing places. He’d learned that from Dean. A phone rang, answered by a blonde. She looked around herself in confusion, then spotted them and waved. Bobby wheeled them over. The woman’s eyes were red; she’d been crying and her arms were peppered with bruises. She’d been in some sort of struggle – cuffs around her wrists, maybe. “Bobby Singer? Hi. I’m… I’m Lindsey.” She held out a hand, which Bobby shook.

“Lindsey, this is Cas.” Cas shook her hand – this was a human thing, and he was supposed to blend in. He could sense terror on her, but it was older terror – several hours old. Now there was… sorrow? Grief? And… anger, yes. Fury. “Lindsey, thank you for calling. Can you tell me where Sam is?”

She led them over to a more secluded set of couches. “Um… yeah. So, there was… uh… So was his name Keith or Sam?” 

“His parents named him Sam. When he came here I suppose it stands to reason that he’d use a different name,” Bobby told her, using considerably more patience than Castiel had ever seen him use before. “I guess Keith is the name he gave you?”

“Yeah. Yesterday, I guess, three guys came into the bar where we work and they recognized him. They called him Sam. They wanted him to go hunting with them – said they were hunting buddies of his father’s.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. This was related to the terror-feelings still lingering around her. “I don’t… he didn’t like them. He didn’t want to go with them, and they didn’t like that. They kept calling him Sam, and he didn’t like that either. Well, when I left after work they jumped me and dragged me back in there. I guess one of their buddies got killed in a hunting accident, they said it was a demon? And they blamed Sam, because they thought he could have stopped it?”

She paused for a moment to collect herself. Castiel could sympathize. Angels weren’t supposed to emote but the sensation crawling around in his brain seemed very close to guilt. “Anyway,” she continued. “He put up a fight, but they managed to hold him down and force a vial of what they said was demon blood down his throat. They threatened me if he didn’t cooperate. I shouldn’t – I should’ve fought harder, I mean, I knew he was an addict, he didn’t say to what but it didn’t matter –“

“It’s not your fault, Lindsey. Is he in the psych wing?” Bobby told her gently. 

“No. No, he spat it back in their faces when they let go of him. Then he beat seven kinds of crap out of them and freed me. He didn’t kill them,” she pointed out severely. “He was the most gentle man I’d ever met. A gentle man and a gentleman. He didn’t deserve that, I don’t care what you try to tell me about mistakes he made in the past.”

“He is very lucky to have you by his side,” Castiel tried. He honestly believed it. The woman truly seemed to care for Sam. She didn’t seem to be put off in the slightest by finding out that he was an addict, addicted to demon blood no less. No, she was more concerned that he was being judged by his family.

“He got me home, apologized for getting me involved with his mess and ‘ending the world,’ and went away again. A few hours later he called me. He said that I’d find his car parked at a pull-off near mile marker four on County Road Fifty and to make sure to take the paper bag marked “burn” and torch everything in it down to ash – with kosher salt if at all possible. Then he apologized again, said he hoped this would fix it and hung up.”

Bobby paled. “Where is he, Lindsey?”

She took another deep breath. “I… I drove down there as fast as I could but it was too late. The… the whole back of his head… I mean… he did it outside the car so it wouldn’t… I mean…” She burst into tears.

“Oh my God,” Bobby whispered.

“I am quite certain my Father had very little to do with this,” Cas insisted.

“He put all this on the boy, didn’t he?” the old man spat. “He let all this happen to the kid. And now – well, look here.” He reached out and drew the tall blonde’s head down to his shoulder and let her have a cry-out. “I’m laying a lot of blame for this on Him. He could have left Sam alone once he’d done his dirty work and let your brother out of the box but no.” 

“There was a note.” Lindsey straightened herself up and pulled the paper out of her purse. “It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but it was addressed to you. Something about being Lucifer’s Vessel on Earth? And if Lucifer’s Vessel is gone, Armageddon can’t happen?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Anyway. I called the last number he called before… before he called me. Guy named Dean, said he was his brother. Didn’t seem to like him too much, that’s for sure.”

“Sam and Dean had a bit of a falling out,” Bobby murmured, scanning the note. “Damn it, Sam, ya idjit. This was not… we would have found another way.” 

“He didn’t… He didn’t… he didn’t expect that you… “ She sighed heavily. “Look. He and I got to talk a little bit. About addiction. About what it feels like to hit rock bottom. You came, so you do care, but I know he didn’t feel like… I guess he didn’t feel like he was worth your time? And when I talked to Dean… well, let’s just say I understand why he felt that way.”

Cas frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he called Dean not long before he called me. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour. And Dean wasn’t really thrilled to hear from him again. Basically cut him loose, you know?” She sighed again. “I know they’re going to have… things that they want to do. Formalities, autop… autopsies. But, um. They need… I mean, I’ve formally identified for you but um…”

“Let’s just… let’s go down there and do what needs to be done,” Bobby suggested sorrowfully.

*

Bobby settled into the motel room. Sam’s body was still in the morgue for more “formalities”. They’d gotten Lindsey back to her apartment – the poor girl had been pretty shaken up, although she’d taken all of the revelations about demons and the apocalypse pretty much in stride. Hard not to, he supposed, when the guy at the center of those revelations overcomes his addiction with the intention of saving your life. She’d told the hospital staff and the police that she was his girlfriend. She’d admitted to Bobby that the thought had crossed her mind more than once – you know, before he blew his brains out by the side of the road. Only carefully, of course, because he didn’t want to make a mess in the stolen car. 

He tried Dean’s number again. No answer. What did he really expect? Lindsey had no reason to lie. Dean was angry. Dean was right to be angry. Sam had made all the wrong choices, to Hell with the reasons, and he’d basically negated everything Dean had done with his sacrifice. But Dean… well, Dean had been pushing Sam away ever since he’d come back from Hell – literally, going after him demanding to know what kind of deal he’d made and seeming downright disappointed to find that he hadn’t successfully dealt at all. But what was the guy supposed to do? Just forgive everything Sam had done? 

Maybe, Bobby’s conscience prodded him, maybe try to understand why he’d done it in the first place. 

Sam wasn’t like them. Sam hadn’t ever been like them. And they all held Sam to a different standard than they held each other to or themselves to. It was something they’d picked up from John Winchester and even though Bobby had castigated the man for it he was just as guilty of it as anyone else. He hadn’t even tried very hard to keep Sam around, left him as easy prey for Ruby. And frankly, there was only one person in the whole world with powers like Sam who was also human, or human-ish. And that was Sam. And only those powers would have killed Lilith, and seriously – everyone was saying that killing Lilith was the right thing to do. 

Only the angels had been telling everyone that Sam was essentially too tainted to do it. And everyone had bought into it. Even Bobby. Even Dean. 

He looked at the note that the boy had left. Damn kid’s writing was smooth and even, not rushed or panicked. There wasn’t even a smudge to indicate a tear or anything, a splash of liquor. He’d been perfectly calm. “Bobby,” he’d written. “Turns out I’m Lucifer’s vessel. He’s not likely to win the war without his true vessel, so this seems like the best way to fix what I broke. If this reaches you, thank you again for everything. I’m sorry for screwing up your life. Please tell Dean I’m sorry and I only ever wanted to save him. At least this way I can’t hurt anyone else.” 

He fought the urge to burn the note as Cas blinked into existence beside him. “I have found Dean,” he announced.

“Really? Where in tarnation was he? Getting a pedicure?” 

“No. Zachariah sent him to an alternate reality, five years in the future. It was intended to encourage him to say yes to Michael. He became concerned when Sam did not answer his phone.” 

The angel’s blue eyes looked away. “You didn’t tell him.”

“No.” He paused. “I was uncertain as to how to proceed. I told him I would investigate.” He licked his lips. The angel was picking up all sorts of human habits now. “I do not know what to say.” 

“Condolences is usually a good start.”

“I am uncertain as to Dean’s feelings on the subject of his brother lately. When we were in Maine he told me that he’d had more fun with me than he’d had with Sam in years, and that I am not that much fun.” He frowned. “They have not been hunting together again for very many years.” 

“No, they ain’t.” Bobby sighed heavily. “I guess we could just not tell him. I mean, he’s washed his hands of his brother. He won’t actually miss him.” 

“Bobby, Dean was trying to call Sam to apologize. Sam had called him to ask for help in dealing with Lucifer before Zachariah sent him on his trip. Dean told him that they needed to pick a hemisphere and stay in it. I believe that is when Sam made his decision.” 

“Damn it! It’s playing right into Lucifer’s hands!” he raged. 

“I don’t believe so. Lucifer… found me. He asked me to put him in contact with Zachariah. He was less than enthusiastic about how the angelic side of his release was managed.” The hunter hadn’t thought Feathers was capable of humor but sometimes he came out with a wry grin that could surprise you. “I feel certain that my own insignificance is all that allowed me to escape.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Zachariah issued orders, but I carried them out. I planted the seeds of doubt in Dean’s mind about his brother. I let him out of the panic room while he was still in the throes of his detox.”

Bobby would have shot him on principle, but they needed him. “How do you justify that?”

“I don’t. At the time? I was following orders. The terrible consequences of those orders have taught me to disobey.” He sighed. “I had not thought that they would be quite so terrible as this.”

* 

Meg tapped on the motel room door. It opened a crack. She was able to use her telekinesis to open it the rest of the way, although she barely managed to avoid choking Dean Winchester out on general principles. It was something of a hobby with the demon and now she had further justification. She also had orders, unfortunately, which had started with “prove that we are better than they.” “Wakey wakey eggs and bakey, Dean-o,” she greeted. 

“Evil bitch,” he groaned. “You can’t come in here. It’s warded.”

“I can see that. Although you screwed up that ward over there. You wanted to ward against Azazel’s unholy spawn. You actually warded against anchovies.”

“It was late. I was tired. Are we going to fight or what?” He rolled his eyes. “Why won’t anyone let me sleep tonight?” 

“Oh, I’m not here to fight you, Deanie. I’m here to talk. Scout’s honor or whatever. Come on out into the parking lot and we can have a nice civilized chat. The boss gave specific orders not to hurt you unless I have to.”

He frowned. “Why would Lucifer give orders not to hurt me?”

“Because believe it or not, Dean, we’re the good guys here. You don’t have to believe me. You’ll find out eventually. Oh, come on, Dean. You were almost on our side not too long ago yourself. Come on out and have a chat.” 

He seemed to actually consider staying inside, but ultimately did step out and follow her over to a picnic table. It was a sad little picnic table, why it had been set up at all was a mystery to Meg but then again most human things were. “All right. What do you want now?” 

“I wanted to talk to you about a soul that showed up in Hell tonight, Dean. All beautiful and shiny and strong and pure. Let me make that abundantly clear. It was a pure soul, as bright a thing as I’ve ever seen in Hell. Not a righteous soul, of course, but what do we need with a righteous soul? We had you!” She laughed.

“Get on with it. What’s the point?”

“Oh, the boss wanted me to go and greet this one special. He wasn’t exactly surprised that he wound up where he did. I guess that Lucifer wanted me to meet up with him since we know each other so well. You know, family and all that.” Her quarry froze and her host body perked up with delight. “Mmm. Yeah, that whole shared blood thing. I’ve got to tell you, I thought he’d be more distraught. I mean, most suicides are.” 

“Suicides? Are we talking about who I think you’re talking about?” 

“The little brother you so casually kicked to the curb only tonight? Oh yeah. You hung up. And he decided that since he had started the Apocalypse – which he had plenty of help and backup for, by the way – he needed to end it with no help or backup whatsoever. Oh wait – no, he didn’t decide that. You did. I think those were almost your exact words, weren’t they? Everyone and everything had just cut him off. He was being hunted by hunters, he’d been force-fed demon blood by said hunters, he’d just found out that he was the true vessel for Lucifer and when he called the one person who he thought he could turn to he was turned away. The only person.

“So he did the only thing he thought he could do. He shot himself in the head.”

“He’s a coward,” Dean spat. “He took the easy way out. Couldn’t stick around to clean up his own damn mess.” 

“You still don’t get it, do you?” She rubbed her hands together gleefully, but inside she seethed. Some righteous man he’d turned out to be. Self-righteous was more like it. “Wow. Only a couple of years ago you sold your soul for this kid. Now I don’t think you’d sell a candy bar for him. This is fantastic. We’re so going to win. That’s not why he did it, genius. He figured that if Lucifer couldn’t get to his true vessel – on account of being dead and all – Lucifer couldn’t win the Battle Royale. 

“I pointed it out, because you know, Hell. It’s an eternity of torment. Even if we lost, which we won’t, he’ll never see it. He’ll be trapped down there, on a rack for all time because you know there’s no way he’s getting an offer like you did Deanie-Weenie.” She leaned in close. “You’re special.” She leaned back, because he kind of smelled like sweat and desperation and really she got enough of that at home.

“He broke the friggin’ world, Meg.” Dean sighed, looking down and away. “The whole world. Will end. Because of him.”

“He was an instrument. And he didn’t do it alone, which you know damn well. I guess it’s a different set of standards for baby brother. Or is he just not your baby brother anymore, Dean? That’s okay. He’s still mine, for whatever that’s worth.

“Anyway. I tried making this really clear to Sammy-boy, that whole eternity of torment thing, and do you know what he did? He just shrugged it off. He told me that it didn’t matter if it helped stop Armageddon. He said he was where he belonged anyway, that it was where he should have stayed after Cold Oak. That you, big brother that you were, should never have been there in the first place.”

“Shut up, Meg. I’m still his brother.”

“No, you dolt. He’s dead. And do you want to know what the best part is? It doesn’t matter. As long as you keep saying no to Michael it doesn’t help your side for us to have lost Sam. Besides – we can bring him back any time we want to.”

“So why aren’t you, then?” His shoulders sagged in sweet, sweet defeat. “You’ve got what you want. Just bring him back, presto changeo you’ve got your boss’ shiny new meat suit.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.” 

She shook her head. “Just like that you’re willing to sign him over?” 

“Like I got a choice?” “Oh, Dean. You have no idea what you’re giving up. He hasn’t said yes yet. He still insists that he’s not going to. Of course, he’s got nothing to hold on to so it will happen eventually. But you know, them’s the breaks.” She gave him a big bright smile.

“Why are you even here, Meg?” he asked her wearily. “Why aren’t you off cutting the tails off puppies or something?” 

“Oh, Dean. You weren’t Alistair’s first apprentice, you know. I served under him too.” She gave a tiny little grin. “Our Lord gave Sam to me for my very own. Now that Alistair’s gone and all.” She could see the emotions swirling under his skin. He wanted to ask. He wanted to yell and scream and threaten, but he couldn’t. Not to her, because she was a demon. She wasn’t just a demon, she was the demon who’d worn his brother for over a week and he hadn’t even noticed the kid was possessed until the end. And, as she knew well and she would later remind him, the best torturers never got their hands dirty. “Still nothing? Wow, Dean. So much for that brotherly bond we’ve all heard so much about. I guess Alistair really didn’t leave much behind with you.” She leaned in closer. “You know, he did it all for you. He just wanted to save you from having to go after Lilith yourself. It didn’t work out the way he wanted. But it worked out the way we wanted so… hey! He was so desperate, so pathetic… there was nothing that could bring you back, because we needed him the way he was. The way you left him, Dean.” 

“No no no. You do not get to blame his screw-ups on me. He made his own goddamn choices. It is not my fault that he chose to drink demon blood. It is not my fault that he chose to ignore the angels.”

“Oh, Deanie, you don’t really think that the angels weren’t leading you around by the nose just as badly as Ruby was leading him? They wanted this just as badly as we did. Sure, he made the choices, but it’s not like there were a lot of better choices made available to him. If he hadn’t tried anything to free you or avenge you how would you have responded? Honestly? If he’d gone back to school and tried to live his life? That boy’s heart was broken. Not that it wasn’t more than a few cracks on its way there already. Remember, I’ve been in there. I’ve seen it. I’ve touched it. And that’s before you went off and died to bring him back, which I know for a fact he did not want.” 

“Seriously, Meg, why are you here?” 

“It’s called gloating, moron. It’s a thing we do.” In reality, of course, Sam’s soul was safely hidden away in a part of Hell that most demons of questionable loyalty – and most demons’ loyalty was questionable, it kind of went with the job description – didn’t even know about. Lucifer wasn’t interested in coercing his vessel. He wasn’t interested in causing the kid more pain. The poor creature winding up in Hell had been the last thing he’d wanted, but it presented the forces of Satan with an interesting opportunity. Lucifer now had the chance to associate himself with comfort in Sam’s sad little mind, with acceptance. When he came back he’d find himself right back where he’d left from. Soon he’d be begging to say yes. Really, Dean was making it entirely too easy.

At the same time, Lucifer was angry. He was angry with Dean for taking on the persona of his archangel a little too closely, for all he insisted he wasn’t going to say yes. He was angry with Dean for making his vessel – as close to beloved as Lucifer was capable – feel that his life was the only thing he had to offer the cause. And so here Meg was, the only person who apparently had the courage or the time or whatever to offer Dean the news of his brother’s demise and taking plenty of pleasure in it. “See you around, Dean-o.” 

Her message delivered, she disappeared back to Hell and the young soul in her care. Truth be told, she kind of liked the kid. As much as she liked anyone who wasn’t Lucifer, anyway. She wasn’t going to get to keep him long; she might as well enjoy him while she had him. “Heya, Sammy. Miss me?” She held up a bottle of bourbon. “Look, it’s unopened. No tricksies this time.”

*

Sam returned to his body, whole and unharmed. There were probably scars under all the hair, but he didn’t care. What were a few scars under crushing disappointment? He could tell by the temperature, the feel of the slider underneath him and the frankly close living space that he was in a morgue locker. Meg’s last words to him had been, “Don’t worry, Sammy-boy. We’ll leave the door unlocked for you.” He braced his arms against the side of the locker and pushed, shoving the door open. It was late at night; no one seemed to be working right now. His drawer was labeled: Moon, K. It matched the toe tag, which had the additional information, “GSW – self-inflicted.” Because, you know, that was important. Had to keep those dirty suicides away from the deserving corpses.

He strode over to the room where the personal effects of the deceased were kept. Based on desk calendars – thank God or whoever for routine-driven records-keepers – he was able to figure out that it hadn’t been all that long since his demise – long enough for someone else to give him a bath and check of the “yep – he’s a goner” box on a chart, stick him in a drawer and move along. These were still the wee hours of the morning and a lifetime of breaking into morgues told him that he still had time to get his stuff back, hopefully. The door was locked and, being stark naked, he had no tools. He wasn’t feeling particularly interested in modesty at the moment, or in minimizing property damage. He kicked the door to the property closet in. 

Meg waited for him there. “Figured I’d save you some time, Sammy,” she sneered before looking him up and down. “Although it might be more entertaining to let you run around naked. I have to say, she certainly must have enjoyed herself.” 

He glared, accepted the bags she held out and dug around until he found some jeans. There was something exceptionally creepy about the way she leered at his unclad body. Maybe it was the way she insisted on calling him “little brother.” There was no other reasonable reason for it, after all. She’d crawled around in his head. “I feel like I should say thanks for the whiskey or something.”

Her sneer disappeared. “Don’t… don’t do that again, Sam. He already told you he’d just bring you back.” 

He shrugged. “I might have learned my lesson a little late, but couldn’t just take his word for it, right? I had to try anyway.” 

“Hope. It’s cute. I’ll see you around, Sammy.” She kissed him on the cheek – bizarrely affectionate – and disappeared. He glanced at the time.

There wouldn’t be much time before his resurrection would be discovered; he needed to be long gone before that happened. He kept the toe tag, though, as a reminder. He found a shirt and pulled it on before making his way to the parking garage. Stealing an old beater car wasn’t difficult, but then again car theft was one of his greater skills. What a fantastic skill set – theft, blood-drinking and world-breaking. Maybe when the Apocalypse was over he could offer a major at the local community college. Your child could be the world’s next biggest fuck-up – study under Sam Winchester to learn how!

By the time the sun rose he was miles out of town. He threw his phone onto speakerphone and replayed the message. He’d listened to it about fifty times in the time since Lucifer rose. “Listen to me you bloodsucking freak,” his brother’s voice spat out. His hands clenched around the wheel as the wave of hate washed over him, familiar and entirely deserved. He’d been protected in Hell. Meg had been nice to him, brought him drinks, spoken to him like a kindly older sister. When had Dean last been that loving? God – not since he’d been… 

He didn’t deserve it. He never had. Of course a demon had been kind to him, he’d gotten the party started for them hadn’t he? Freed their God. Now he was supposed to house their God, with his gentle manner and his accepting words. Which Sam didn’t rate. He had no merit. He knew it. They were only nice to him because of the vessel thing. Ruby had insisted that Lucifer would be grateful, but this wasn’t gratitude. This was manipulation. 

His phone rang. “Yeah?” he frowned, not sure who would even be calling him. Lindsey… well, after he’d kind of forced her to deal with a fresh corpse he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be her. Bobby was Dean’s contact, not his, and no one else had his number.

“Sam, it’s me.” Dean’s voice. 

“Dean, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Panic rose in him. “I thought you were hunting with Cas –“ 

“Am I –” Dean cut himself off. “You’re the one who was dead.”

“Who told you?”

“What do you mean who told me? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Look. I figured it might work but I wasn’t sure. I mean, he said he’d just bring me back but it’s not like I was just going to take the devil at his word, you know?” He huffed. “Can’t even freaking die right, but it’s not like you need to worry about it, okay? Besides, I thought we were picking hemispheres.” 

His brother sighed. “Look, about that. Let’s meet up and talk.” 

“I don’t know, Dean. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” 

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? But we should at least talk this out, okay?”

The guilt welled up in Sam again. “If you’re sure.”


End file.
